


Breathe Deep

by ouroboros



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crossover, Drug Use, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros/pseuds/ouroboros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“C’mon, you know you’re just scratching the fucking surface of it." Kavinsky said. "Listen to me. There are other ways. Deeper magic you can call on to pull out anything you want.” He wrapped an arm around Ronan’s shoulder, and he felt it all the way down his spine. “Anything you can dream of, Lynch. Literally. Smoke this with me. It’ll bring you shit on a level you never knew of.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Harry Potter AU version of when Ronan and Kavinsky go on a drug-fueled dream/sex binge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/gifts).



> So I do have actual serious thoughts about all the raven kids in a TRC/HP AU, but I also wanted to write the sexy bonus part of the Ronan/Kavinsky dream sequence scene. So I combined the two, and here we are. 
> 
> Smoking Gillyweed to get high was a fanon thing back in the old HP days, as was boning in the Astronomy Tower. I just felt like bringing those tropes back. This is self-indulgent and ridiculous, but it's Zee's birthday, so I won't even ask for forgiveness.
> 
> Warnings for drug use and bad decisions, which is technically what happens in canon, too.

Ronan was cold. He was cold because it was _always_  cold in the Astronomy Tower. He knew this, but he hadn’t brought his cloak, because he never remembered to bring it anywhere. He was leaning his arms against the cold of the stone windowsill, watching Chainsaw fly around the grounds, lit pink by the low hanging sun.

He liked coming up here with her. It was calm and quiet. Not like the Owlry, which was loud and smelled like shit because it was full of owls and owl shit.

 _A raven is better than an Owl_ , he thought as he watched her fly deftly through the branches of the whomping willow. He was proud of her, and proud of her name, which he always enjoyed explaining to the kids who didn’t grow up with muggle power tools (not that he did either, really, which is kind of why he liked it). It never failed to sound badass. Which she was.

The door creaked, and Ronan turned, startled. Astronomy class didn’t start for at least another four hours, he was sure. No one should be coming up here, unless it’s some first year trying to get a head start on their homework, in which case he’d just look at them once, and that’d scare them off. They’d take one look at his bald head, his tattoos, his glower, and then notice his yellow and black tie and the badger emblem on his vest. Then they’d get nervous about that contradiction in him enough to awkwardly leave, freshly reminded that they’re glad it wasn’t _them_  who had come home to the Dark Mark above their house, discovered their dad-

Ronan shook himself. He was ready for it, jaw set and practiced look of jagged nonchalance ready on his face, but it wasn’t a nerdy first year who walked through onto the Astronomy tower balcony. It was Kavinsky. Fuck.

Joseph Kavinsky was an asshole. Well, Ronan was an asshole, too, he’d admit, but Kavinsky was a different kind. He was _that_  kind of Slytherin. Not like Adam, who used his cunning to push himself and excel in everything that tried to tear him down, Ronan thought. Kavinsky was the sort of Slytherin who took sneaky advantage of every opportunity, every person he could manipulate. He had spent his first four years at Durmstrang, and now, two years later, he didn’t let anyone forget it. He was obnoxious, always tailing Ronan in quidditch matches, paying more attention to him than the quaffle he was supposed to be handling. Which, Ronan knew from watching him fly hot and fast on the sleekest broom available, he was devastatingly good at.

And he was always _watching_  Ronan, even off the pitch, commenting on Ronan’s dream objects, like he knew what Ronan was capable of. He did things like give him a miniature charmed version of Chainsaw in transfiguration class. Ronan couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a compliment or a warning, but the molten beam of Kavinsky’s gaze when he winked at him and dropped it on his desk made him want to find out.

He always looked at Ronan like he was waiting for the right moment to strike. Ronan wondered if this was it. He rolled his shoulders, just in case.

“Evening, Lynch.” Kavinsky leaned lazily against the doorway, like this sort of meeting was normal, like Ronan was used to seeing him one on one like this, tie askew and shirtsleeves rolled up.

Ronan grunted his not-so-welcome. His pulse rose.

“Good to see you, too, then.” Kavinsky mocked his lack of response.

“What the hell do you want, Kavinsky?” Ronan turned back to look out over the grounds.

“Can’t I just enjoy the sunset at the top of the Astronomy tower on a Thursday night? Do I need to be interrogated?” Kavinsky joined him at the wide window, propping his elbows up next to Ronan’s. “Do _you_  need to interrogate me? I bet you could dream up some veritaser-”

“Did you follow me up here?” Ronan cut him off, his pulse wild at the mention of dreaming up anything. Kavinsky had hinted, before, but he’d never outright accused him of being capable of somnomancy.

Kavinsky shrugged, grinning “I have something you might be interested in.” He pulled a tiny purple embroidered drawstring bag out of his pocket and opened it with a flourish. Ronan pretended not to look interested.

He smelled it before he saw it. Gillyweed. Ronan knew why he had it, but he wasn’t about to act like he wanted it. “You planning on going swimming?”

“On the great sea of my mind, Lynch. You ready for it?” Kavinsky pulled the gillyweed joint out of the bag and proffered it to Ronan. It was greener, shinier than he knew Gillyweed to be. He didn’t let that show on his face.

Ronan ignored the question. He’d smoked Gillyweed before. He’d done it on his own plenty (a lot of it in the Astronomy Tower, actually), and once with Noah, who mostly just let Ronan blow smoke rings through his lips down through the silver shimmer of his ghostly body, pretending he remembered what it felt like to get high. “Did you steal it?” he said.

“Why, would you turn me down if I had?” Kavinsky’s eyebrows were raised in question, in accusation, like Ronan were the one on trial here. Ronan thought about it.

“No, I wouldn’t.” He shrugged, but he still didn’t take the joint.

“Some fucking Hufflepuff you are, Lynch, smoking stolen regulated herbs.”

Ronan rolled his eyes.

“You should try staying in the dungeons with me sometime, see if you like it. I still think you’ve got more Slytherin in you than you think.”

Ronan’s face reacted before he could stop it, turning his face toward Kavinsky, his eyes going wide for a moment before he reined his stoic, sullen face back in.

Kavinsky noticed it, of course. “Unless you’d rather spend the night in Ravenclaw with the Golden Dick?” He nudged Ronan’s shoulder with his own. He let it linger too long.

Kavinsky was wrong about the reasoning behind Ronan’s reaction, as usual. He and his friends didn’t give a fuck about house rivalry, and he spent all kinds of time in the Ravenclaw common room. Gansey always let them in, as long as they could figure out the password riddle. And if Ronan had Blue or Adam with him, it never took long.

Ronan punched Kavinsky’s shoulder. He didn’t let it linger, but he thought about it. “Shut the fuck up,  asshole, It’s not like that.”

Ronan’s mind was on fire with the idea of staying in the Slytherin dorm, though. Knowing which bed Adam slept in, what his corner of the dorm looked like. Ronan buried it down, thankful, as always, that his skin was dark enough to mostly mask a blush. Any protection he could get.

“Sure, whatever you say, Lynch.” Then Kavinsky’s spine straightened, and Ronan knew, somehow, that something else, something different, was about to happen. Kavinsky leaned in, his breath hot on Ronan’s neck. “I didn’t steal it. And you know I didn’t.”

Ronan looked at him. Kavinsky’s smile was full of teeth, his dimple more a threatening slice in his cheek than a cute accent. Ronan liked it. It wasn’t anything like the small, unsure smile Adam would occasionally give him, but he was trying not to compare them too hard. That would only make him sad, and that’s not what he wanted, now.

Kavinsky only got closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Ronan’s ear. “I dreamt it.”

Ronan closed his eyes. When he opened them, Kavinsky was staring at him, his lower lip between his teeth, grinning.

He didn’t know how to address the fact that he’d never met someone else who was capable of somnomancy. He’d noticed Kavinsky’s hints, but he’d somehow still believed he was the only one who could do dream magic now that his father was gone. Instead of asking how, or why, Ronan tried to keep it simple, combative. “Is that the best you can dream up?”

Kavinsky laughed, and it sounded like the scrape of metal on stone. “Don’t lie to me. I know you know this smells like the good shit. And you don’t even _know_  the upgrades I’ve put on it, man.” Kavinsky tapped his temple with a long finger. “Plus, I know you haven’t done much better, or else i’d have seen it."

That worked. Ronan couldn’t be accused of lying. “Okay then, you’ve got me. What else can you do?” His heart beat in his throat.

“This shit is nothing. Try a broom, faster than anything regulated by the international Quidditch Association. Try any drug you want, fireworks even Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes won’t sell you. How close have you been to a dragon?” His voice was thick, heavy, and Ronan felt it weighing on him, pressing at parts of him he couldn't deny.

Ronan shook his head, eyes wide. He’d never even _seen_  a dragon in real life. Kavinsky’s eyebrows jolted up, once. He licked his lips. Ronan’s breath caught in his throat.

Kavinsky tucked the empty pouch back in his pocket, twirling the joint in his fingers. “That’s because you don’t let yourself try. Imagine, Lynch, dreaming up some bigger balls.”

“I do try,” Ronan said, anger rising in him.

“C’mon, you know you’re just scratching the fucking _surface_  of it. Listen to me. There are other ways. Deeper magic you can call on to pull out anything you want.” He wrapped an arm around Ronan’s shoulder, and he felt it all the way down his spine. “Anything you can dream of, Lynch. Literally. Smoke this with me. It’ll bring you shit on a level you never knew of.”

Ronan knew smoking the Gillyweed itself wasn’t bad. But Kavinsky was offering it as a means to access something deeper, something he’d felt in himself and recoiled from. He jerked away from him, sharply, his eyes hot and angry. “You mean dark arts shit.”

Kavinsky shrugged, cutting his eyes to the side, like it was obvious. “Your Hufflepuff tryhard magic isn’t gonna get you the results you want, and you know it.”

“It’s not dark magic, Kavinsky. I take things the dreams give me, things I need.” But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure. The nightmares that plagued him, that made him sleep in a separate room than the other Hufflepuff boys, didn’t feel like anything good. They were horrors, and he knew it was his own mind that made them. All the healing spells he’d gotten good at, for nights after he brought one back with him were proof enough.

His confidence in where he stood on this was shaken, and Kavinsky’s hand holding the joint looked steady and sure.

“Why don’t you try taking something you _want_ , Lynch, not just whatever bullshit you get stuck dragging out of hell?”

They held eye contact for a long time. Longer than it took most people to look away from him, sometimes even his friends. Kavinsky’s collarbone was peeking out of his uniform, where his tie had loosened. Ronan didn’t let himself look at it. He ground his teeth together. Kavinsky smiled wider. Ronan, without breaking Kavinsky’s gaze, reached for the joint with one hand and pulled his wand out of his back pocket with the other. “Incendio,” he said, and brought it to his lips.

The first hit of it was enough. He could feel the slow waves of it creeping into him. Usually it made him giggly, but this was different. Ronan was glad. He didn’t want Kavinsky to see that. His body felt like it was made of water. He passed the joint to Kavinsky and stared out into the dusk.

“Better lay down, princess,” he heard Kavinsky saying. Ronan turned, and he was patting the spot of stone next to where he was somehow already laying. Kavinsky took another hit and stubbed out the joint on the floor as Ronan scooted in beside him. Kavinsky wrapped an arm around his side. “Hold on tight,” he said, blowing smoke in Ronan’s face.

It was a state between sleeping and waking, a swirl of feeling and light and a deep, dark yawning blackness that felt ripe for pulling anything he wanted from it. So he did. And Kavinsky, his body pressed up against his own, did too.

The first time they came back, it was with a giant pillow, “To make this operation more opulent, and with less rocks in your ass,” according to Kavinsky. Ronan hadn’t thought to mind the way the stone ground into his back, but when he lay back down on the pillow, his body slid into where Kavinsky’s pressed a dip into the softness of it, their bodies touching all the way down.

“Don’t worry, Lynch, I don’t bite. Not til you ask.”

The urge to hit him was there, but it was buried beneath the soft waves of the high. He took another drag instead. When he exhaled, he was staring at Kavinsky’s mouth. And then he was floating again.

He wondered, vaguely, what they might do with all the shit they were bringing back: ridiculously bejeweled swords (which started off shitty and broken and gradually grew more solid as Ronan learned to pull harder, pull cleaner from the void), crowns to rival that diadem Gansey was always talking about, butterbeer stronger than anything Ronan had tried before, and a Firebolt Ronan knew he wouldn’t let himself use in a match, but he’d definitely take out on his own. That wouldn’t be cheating. And always, always more gillyweed.

Each time they came back to consciousness they were breathing harder, their bodies warmer to the touch. Ronan wasn’t sure if it was because of exertion or the gillyweed or the fact that Kavinsky was looking at him like he was something worth hunting. It didn’t matter. He didn’t know what time it was, or how close they were to Professor Sinistra coming in with a gaggle of 3rd years to do star charts. That didn’t matter either.

The haze ebbed and rose, eventually clearing long enough for him to see Kavinsky sharply again, next to Ronan on the soft pile of blue and green embroidery on the massive pillow. He looked hungry, and Ronan knew that look well. He felt it clawing in himself, all the time.

“Ready to wake up, you sleepy fuck?” Kavinsky’s eyelids were low, and he still looked like he was glowing, but for the most part, Ronan felt his mind felt clear, slightly.

“I think we’ve accumulated enough shit for one night.” Ronan’s voice was rough.

Kavinsky slid his leg up on Ronan’s. “Some things are better when you’re awake.” He was uncharacteristically quiet, and lacking in profanity. Ronan stared at him.

“What else you got to teach me, fucker?” Ronan pushed, not sure how to act in this close, hazy space now that the drugs had mostly worn off. Animosity seemed like a decent route to take.

Kavinsky grinned. “Like I said before, man. Not til you ask.” He punctuated it with a mimed chomp of his teeth. How long ago it had been that he’d said that, an hour or a year?

Ronan wasn’t good at asking. “Bite me,” he told him, teeth clenched, thigh pressed hot to Kavinsky’s.

“Gladly.”

Kavinsky kissed him hard, pulling them even closer. “I _knew_  you’d be into--” Kavinsky started.

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up,” Ronan interrupted, kissing him back.

“Make me.”

He pulled Kavinsky over on top of him, grinding upward.

Kavinsky was an asshole. Ronan knew this, but he gave himself in to it, because he wanted to, because it felt good, and because he wanted to feel wanted. Kavinsky, with his sharp teeth and his thin lips on Ronan’s neck, wanted him. And that was good.

They were a scramble of arms and legs and insults, getting each other’s pants unbuttoned. They didn’t bother taking their clothes all the way off, they could reach each other with their hands as it was. It wasn’t romance. It was sex: desperate, dreamy, gillyweed-laced sex, and Ronan wanted it more than anything he could think of, on his list of things he could actually attain.

Ronan wondered hazily whether the liquid Kavinsky squeezed into his hand was something he’d bought or something he’d dreamed. The question was answered for him as soon as Kavinsky wrapped his hand around Ronan’s cock, though, because everywhere Kavinsky’s hand was on him was alive with sensation. It beat hard in his veins, He felt himself cry out, something he hadn’t thought he’d do. He grabbed at the vial and put some on his own fingers.

When he wrapped his hand back around Kavinsky, his eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck, Lynch.” Ronan beat him off faster.

Joseph Kavinsky, the asshole, had his tongue in Ronan’s mouth, and his his hands were doing indescribable things to the rest of him. There were fireworks exploding in Ronan’s brain. He pushed his hips against Kavinsky’s hand, chasing the hot and dangerous feeling all the way down until he came, gasping, against Kavinsky’s side. Kavinsky ground back, fucking into Ronan’s loosening grip for a few more strokes, and then he followed, collapsing hard on top of him.

They lay like that for a minute, panting on the softness of the pillow. Above him, Kavinsky started to prop himself up. Over his shoulder, Ronan could see the night through the window. The stars were out.

“What _was_  that stuff?” he asked, as soon as he could make words form in his brain again. “You dreamt it, didn’t you?”

Kavinsky was sitting up, adjusting his clothes. “Any means necessary, Ronan Lynch,” he said, gesturing to his green and silver tie as he straightened it. “End fucking achieved.”

Kavinsky scourgified the mess off both of them, and Ronan buttoned up his pants.

“What do we do with all this shit?” Ronan asked as he stood up, realizing that a bunch of jewels, empty butterbeer bottles, a broom, and a fucking sex pillow were not likely to go unnoticed at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Kavinsky shrugged. “Take what you want, banish the rest. It’s the making it that’s fun. I don’t give a fuck what you do with it.” He picked up a sword, one of the straighter, sharper ones, and swung it around, once. His stance was shit. “I’m taking this one, though. Nice work.”

He walked back over to Ronan, backing him up against the wall. “Better clear out before class starts, eh?”

Ronan nodded. Kavinsky kissed him, then, and it was slow, and almost sweet, the hand not holding the sword cupped Ronan’s jaw, gentle. Ronan didn’t know what to do about that, so he kissed him back.

When he pulled away, Kavinsky looked at him, eyes almost bright, and Ronan wondered how much of it was from the leftover Gillyweed. He was looking at Ronan like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t.

He turned, and walked toward the door. He looked over his shoulder before disappearing down the spiral staircase. “See you.”

He waited until Ronan nodded, then the door closed.

Alone again, Ronan ran his hand over the stubble on his head. He breathed in, and out. It was late, and he needed to leave, but his nerves were electric and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

Ronan looked at the stairs, and then at the new broom leaning against the wall. A small smile crept into the corner of his mouth.

He cleaned up, banishing almost all of the things they’d made. He tucked a sword of his own into a belt loop, though. It was a small one with a cracked topaz gem, the blade broken halfway down. He kicked his leg over the sleek side of what was now the fastest broom in existence, whistled for Chainsaw, and flew out the window into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Ouroborosbites on Tumblr. Talk to me about this Harry Potter AU.


End file.
